BY HANNAH POWELL

 

We were told we had a name;

                 woman

Definitive of grace, lipstick rubbing off

Hand of a sun-skin warrior

We were told to be sultry,

To be maternal

To hold power with our sex –

with sex,

to give and to take nothing but sex

A temple,

            but tidal

Water with fire

Hard-working, defiant

Tidy your scars, would you?

You, revolutioniser.

 

We were told to take turns,

To step back, and never

stride forward

Your place is determined by your worth, love

Love – worthy of them all

Intelligence is key

to a future, but not

            a life

if a life is expected to be someone else’s wife.

 

Tell them we can do,

               A dream will not suffice

Their place is in the home

then what are we, but

four walls –

I am a woman, a

               human

Blood, bone, skeleton,

             Soul.

 

HANNAH POWELL is your local film and theatre gal gone hippie, complete with bangs and at least one pair of Docs. Music festival enthusiast, green tea drinker and avid horoscope reader. Will most likely be found at the next gig.

 

You like? Check out more of her work below:

The Common Room: What a Month of Tinder Taught Me

The Great NZ Festival Road Trip: How you can do it for yourself

V Day: How to take yourself on a date

Up sticks: Why the time is always right to travel

 

 

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